The Fall of the Voice
by CyLebi
Summary: This is a strange little idea I've had for a while. Y'know how Toulouse called Christian 'the voice of the Children of the Revolution'? That's where the title comes from. So yep, its about Christian...(Will be 'R' later on, sorry if it looks sloppy)
1. Chapter One: The Vision

Chapter 1: The Vision  
  
~*  
  
Christian stood in the garden of the Moulin Rouge, a gleeful smile on his face, dressed in his tailcoat suit and hat placed tilted on his head. Oh, how it glowed its shades of red once again, the windmill was fixed and spinning its way through the night. It was months that his favorite place, of memories and love, was closed, but Zidler found another person to help with the finances, and tonight was its true opening night.  
  
He sighed and closed his eyes, twirling around with bounces in his steps, his arms spread out, basking in every sound and glow. Sweet memories of his first night, when he first met his bohemian friends, his love...Satine... oh, she was now to him a tragic love story, one you'd read over and over, getting so many different emotions every ending.  
  
"Cwistian!"  
  
He turned around, distracted, but beaming even more as a familiar face hobbled his way over, "Toulouse!"  
  
Christian ran over to him, hugging him like it was his last, "Oh my dear bohemian friend, I've missed you so!"  
  
He laughed, slipping out of Christian's friendly embrace, "Oh we all missed you too, Cwis. We all missed the Wouge, what a spwendid night indeed!"  
  
"Oh, very." Christian sighed, looking at the rakes walking around the garden and into the theatere, which was cleared of chairs so the girls can dance again. "Shall we?", he asked.  
  
"Of cou'se, the otha bohos awe waiting!"  
  
Christian literally yipped, dancing around as if he was druken already, twirling and skipping and Toulouse laughing at this strangely happy, soulful poet. He waited by the door, watching him dance around until Christian remembered reality, stopping and looking at Toulouse, and other patrons, staring at him. He laughed at himself walking to the dancehall's doors, still with a bounce, and both of them made their way inside.  
  
~  
  
The beat of the music from the band filled the hall, the sounds of the rakes screaming for more, and the Diamond Dogs giving as much as they can. Christian looked as if it was his first time again, his eyes sparkling from the lights and his mouth gaping. Toulouse nudged him, "Come on, I see them!"  
  
He didn't budge. He laughed, dragging Christian by his sleeve over to the table with the other three of the bunch.  
  
Christian was sitting down already as he was slowly getting out of the daze and trying to blink out the spots in his eyes from the lights. Toulouse and the others were talking, enjoying a glass of absinthe. He took the glass in front of him, swirling it around, and took a sip. Ah, the bitter taste of Fee Verde absinthe was sweet, and again he took another sip, letting the bohos be and watching the dancers. Taking another sip, he looked at the door, seeing more coming in and one walking out-...wait... He stopped drinking and stared, the person walking out was looking at him, dead on. A familiar moustashed face-Duke?!  
  
Christian gasped, choking on the absinthe, which he swollowed down the wrong pipe. Satie noticed hit him on the back a few times, "Christian, you okay?"  
  
Toulouse and the others looked over, "I'm-I'm fine. Thanks."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
He looked back at the door, "I thought I saw someone familiar..."  
  
"Who?", Toulouse asked.  
  
Christian sighed, "...I guess it doesn't matter now. Not gonna let something like that hold my night down, aye?"  
  
He chuckled, raising his glass as they clinked with the others and they sipped what ever was left. He looked over at the door still. Was it the Duke? No...it couldn't be... its just the absinthe, yes, just that...  
  
~  
  
Hours later, Toulouse and Christian walked out of the garden gates, the other bohos still finishing their 2nd bottle of Fee Verde with dancers on their breaks. The night, or late morning, whatever it was, had a light blue hue from the cresent moon over the Seine, as Toulouse followed the somewhat tipsy Christian up the stairs of the Chambres. He stopped at Chris' garret door, "Will you be okay fo the west of the night?"  
  
"M hm, Christian nodded,"I'll be fine-?" He stopped mid-sentence, looking at a twice-folded piece of paper taped to his door.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
Christian opened his door and kept it open, sitting on his bed and pondering over the paper. "I don't know. It doesn't have a 'from' on it either."  
  
"Open it, maybe its witten in there."  
  
Christian unfolded the paper. Sure enough, there was something typed, but no signature at the bottom, or anywhere. "Hm. Nothing." He skimmed the message, and read it aloud;  
  
"Christian  
  
I noticed you came to the opening night of the Moulin Rouge. So did I, and its amazing how I saw you, but you didn't really notice I was there. I've seen you before in the past, how you fell in love with Satine. Everyone had a love for her, but during that time, I began falling in love as well.  
  
With you.  
  
I wish I could watch you every night. What you dream, what you nightmare, what you think, how you think, what you do, how you move, how you breathe. Oh, but I want to do more than that. I want to sleep beside you, wake up with you near me, stand over you, have you kneel before me, r...r-ride you, ...I-I want to get inside-oh my god..."  
  
Christian shuddered, his breathing a little heavier than normal, "I...I can't read the rest." He folded it back up quickly and placed it on his night stand, staring at it.  
  
Toulouse looked at him, then the paper. He picked it up and unfolded it, skimming it as well. "Woah..." he jutted back for a second, reading ahead from where Christian stopped, "whoeva this pe'son is weally wants you."  
  
"Yea, but...but who is it?"  
  
Toulouse looked over it again, turning it over to look for some signature. "I don't know. Maybe tomowwow we'll know. You should get some sweep. It will pass, okay?"  
  
Christian nodded, thanking Toulouse for the night and watched as he shut the door to let him alone. He just stared at the celing, peering at the paper every few seconds. He reached over and brushed it off, letting it fall to the floor so he wouldn't look at it.  
  
That night, he made sure he had a dreamless sleep. 


	2. Chapter Two: The Morning

Chapter 2: The Morning  
  
~  
  
Tweet  
  
Tweet  
  
The little lovebird, Diamant as Christian aptly named her, continued her morning song in her cage, outside the garret window. She paused, ruffling her feathers and looking a second at Christian, but looked out onto the Montemarte streets again and continued. Christian was still asleep, longer than he usually did, usually the song would wake him, but having a dreamless sleep tunes you out of everything and anything, deeper than a dream. A small shisk-ing sound slid under his door, as another letter, pushed under by someone, resting silently on the floor. The sound, as light as it seemed, woke Christian up. He began blinking, to get used to a Saturday sun, and cocked his head to the door, raising an eyebrow at the letter, It didn't look like the one he pushed off his night stand, which actually rested closer to the stand its self. 'Another one?', he said, confused, to himself.  
  
He began staring through the wall, hearing footsteps going down the stairs. He scrambled out of bed, opening the door. Wandering down the stairs out in the lobby of the Chambres, watching the door close after someone. "Wait! Excuse me!" He asked of the person, but it was too late.  
  
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, and peering over to the landlady, who was looking back at him, but further down. He looked down himself, noticing he was still in his dress pants, which were quite loose around his waist, and nothing else.  
  
"Oh...s-sorry... um..." he laughed a little, "Um did you happen to get a glance at that person who walked out?"  
  
She shook her head no, "Sorry love."  
  
"Oh, its okay. I'll...", he looked down again a little embarrassed, "I'll be going back up to my room, now...", slinking his way back up the stairs.  
  
He walked back into his room, snorting to himself. He was so close to seeing this admirer of his, dammit. He stepped on the new letter, lifting his foot back and looking down at it. He picked it up, turning it over a few times, still no signature. He threw on it his night stand, deciding to read it later, as he looked at it, then the picture of Satine next to it. When she died he got most of the tidbits she had in her dressing room. Other small pictures of her scattered the walls, something to remind him of how beautiful she was, and why their love had to be doomed like it was.  
  
Christian went over to his lovebird's cage, opening the door and carefully taking her out, leaning back against the open window outside. She fluttered a bit, but didn't fly away, as over the past months was used to her new handler. He held Diamant close to his chest, petting her head with his thumb gently. Her small, smooth feathers reminded him of Satine's skin, soft and relaxing to touch. He smiled, propping her on his finger, softly whistling a little tune and waiting for her to sing it back. He stopped, as soon after she whistled back, and back and forth they sang to one another in whistles. It was always a regular routine to them to sing to each other on any day. It grew friendship, love, trust, and Christian brushing up on his whistling skills. He brought Diamant closer to him and kissed her on her head, putting her back in the cage, any unrest that happened that week locked away as well. He turned around, looking at the new vanilla-white letter still resting on the night stand. 'Might as well', he said, and picked it up, resting on his bed and back against the wall.  
  
He opened the first fold, and then the second, skimming the bottom, still no signature. He looked at the rest of the letter, relaxing more and began to read it:  
  
"Christian  
  
I'm surprised you haven't replied! Knowing you, a writer, I'm sure there would be at least something in return. But, I guess you'll be doing that later.  
  
'Later?', he said, thoughtfully...  
  
"I know we've hardly seen each other, but I want to see you tonight, at 8 o'clock, in the Gothic Tower at the Rouge. Seems a little much, but I guess, to tell the truth, I'm desperate.  
  
Christian laughed, amused, 'desperate, aye?'. He read on...  
  
"I know you read the other letter, sorry for it being extreme in that manner. I doubt you're naive little body could take it. But being so frail on the outside can hide so much on the inside. You're a very creative person, you could use that creativity for more than just writing, you know. Hell, you're probably a great lover, Christian.  
  
He blinked back.  
  
"I won't say anything more. I went overboard when I started describing in the first one, didn't I. I'll wait for tonight. Hope to see you there.  
  
I'll be waiting."  
  
And that was it. Oh wait, a P.S.?  
  
"P.S.  
  
I'm sure our little meet could resolve the conflicts in the past. Adieu until then."  
  
'Conflicts?', he was getting pretty suspicious now. 'What conflicts? I hardly know you, but we've met before?'  
  
He looked at his pocket watch resting next to him on the night stand. It was 11 a.m. now. He pondered back at the letter, turning it over and set it back on the night stand, still looking at it.  
  
'Conflicts...' 


	3. Chapter Three: The Admirer

Chapter 3: The Admirer ~  
  
"Christian..."  
  
He woke up slightly, "Hm? Wh-who's there?" He propped himself up on his elbows, looking left, looking right. No one... He looked left again and almost jumped out of his bed.  
  
Satine?!  
  
"Sa... wait... n-wait... Satine?", Christian babbled. Satine walked up to him, placing a white finger on his lips.  
  
"Shush."  
  
She sat down next to him, Christian still not believing that his lover is sitting right there.  
  
"Wha... you're dead... y-you can't-"  
  
"Love, I might be dead in reality, but you know what?", she traced her finger down his lips, his chin, his neck, all the way to his chest, "I'm not dead here.", she left a cold finger on his heart.  
  
Christian got up, curling into her arms, feeling the embrace he missed for months and months. Not wanting to leave, just steal time just for one day.  
  
She pulled him away slightly, standing back up but leaning in, "I've come to warn you."  
  
The little puppy-eyes went into a state of confusion. "Warn me? A-about who, or what?"  
  
"This admirer of yours."  
  
"What about?"  
  
"I don't want this secret admirateur to hurt you."  
  
"Hurt me? Satine... who is it? You know, don't you? Please tell me!"  
  
She stepped back, turning her back to him , "Then it wouldn't be a secret, would it?"  
  
He laughed, playing along with her 'game', "Come on... tell me, please?"  
  
She turned around... wait... it wasn't a she... it was a he-  
  
~  
  
"Cwistian?"  
  
Christian woke up, shaking, startled, breathing heavily. Toulouse had his hand on his shoulder from shaking him awake. "Its seven o'cwock, I wead the wetta', you shou'd be getting weady!"  
  
Christian stared back at him and the at the ceiling, rubbing his forehead and groaning, controlling the breathing. He started coughing, choking almost, but slowly crept into reality and the fact that Toulouse was next to sitting beside him/ He was sleeping for 6 hours or so, maybe falling asleep in the sun, which was slowly setting its oranges.. "I had a dream... but it turned into a bloody nightmare."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
He sat up on his knees, "Satine... she came to see me. She was warning me about the person sending the letters is going to hurt me."  
  
Toulouse began to think, "It pwobabwy is just a dweam. I hea'd if you think abou' something too much you sta't having nightma'es about them."  
  
"But what if something DOES happen? I... I don't know if I want to go now. But..." He sighed. "I think I should... but that's just my mind. My physicality is telling me like-wise... oh I don't know!", he buried his face in his hands, trying to think... think think think.  
  
"I should go... can... can you get out for a minute so I can change, 'louse?"  
  
He nodded, and walked out, closing the door behind him and waited. Didn't really take long, just a bit of rumaging here and there and he heard Christian tapping to let him back in. "What do you think?", Christian looked over his shoulders a few times, dressed up once again, just in a new pair of pants and a shirt, he only had one tail coat anyway. "You think its okay?"  
  
"It's fine, twust me!" Toulouse twirled the chain of the pocket watch and clicked it open: "7:45, better get going, you have a busy night t'night!" He grinned and placed the watch in Christian's pant pocket. Christian tried to relax, hell, he had a blind date ahead of him. 'Hope it was just a nightmare' he whisperly prayed, and headed out the door of his garret, down the stairs, and out the Chambre's doors, into the Montemartre street.  
  
~  
  
The stairs to the tower spiraled, its eerie stone walls got Christian even more nervous. Why the gothic tower? Couldn't it just be the elephant?  
  
He sighed, reaching the doors. He tapped gently with the knuckle of his finger, making the only noise through out the whole stairwell. He pushed the doors slowly, peeking inside. Someone was there. "He... Hello?"  
  
The someone didn't move, just nodding to allow him in. Christian swallowed his nervousness and walked in without a sound. "A-are you...the person who in-invited me?"  
  
The someone nodded again, "Sit down.", said in a low, very faint whisper.  
  
Christian looked around, looking curiously at this person in the sun set light of the balcony, and around again. He sat on the edge of the bed, closer to the balcony walls than the chairs. "Sorry if you want it to be more o-of a secret... but who are you?"  
  
"Someone you know.", again, a whisper. Suspicious... so monotonic you couldn't tell if he was a she or like-wise.  
  
"Well, ah, that doesn't help." He chuckled, very low. "Y-you said in the letter that w-we had conflicts... I-I don't know that many people I conflicted with."  
  
"Believe me, boy, you know me... very well, I'm sure.", the whisper was louder, but no change in tone.  
  
Boy...? "Just p-please," he was getting very, very nervous, his heart feeling heavy, "who are you? I'm curious!"  
  
"Curiosity killed the cat."  
  
Christian snorted. "Please! I'm here, i-it isn't a secret-well, it i-i-is kind of, but WHO are you?!", he was getting pretty anxious.  
  
The someone turned their head just a wee bit. "You sure, boy?"  
  
He couldn't even get the word out, "ah-I'm not a boy!" He stood up "WHO ARE YOU!?", shouting.  
  
The someone pulled something from a pocket, pointing it straight at him.  
  
A gun.  
  
Christian froze, mouth open, eyes as small as pebbles. "Wha...wait...I... I- I'm sorry ah-about that."  
  
"You better be.", the someone gave an asserting threat.  
  
"I... I didn't mean t-wait... wai... ah-oh...!!", Christian felt his heart sink like a rock in a frozen pond; stiff, cold, helpless. That voice...  
...The voice is at the beginning of its end...  
'D... duke?!' 


	4. Chapter Four: The Lovely Reality

Chapter 4: The Lovely Reality  
  
The Duke turned around, looking at the staring one sitting on the front end of the bed. "Yes?"  
  
"Wait...I-you...you're this admirer? The one sending me letters?", It can't be! Maybe he's sending them from somebody else.  
  
"Yes, is it so bad? I can't say I love you?"  
  
"But.. But you're a... well, sa-same-"  
  
"Surprised?", the Duke asked.  
  
Christian nodded, "Why? I mean, y-you have to have a reason for, well, this."  
  
"What was yours, then?", he turned the dining chair around and sat down facing Christian.  
  
"Reason? For who, S-satine?"  
  
"Who else would it be, boy?"  
  
"Well, she was beautiful." He laughed a bit, "I-I mean, of course she was, she was a courtesan. 'Sold her love to men'. But back t-to you, what.. well, what is yours?"  
  
"Simple."  
  
Christian squirmed, settling into the bed, trying to relax. He was still nervous about him, anyway. "Simple?"  
  
"Curiousity."  
  
Christian laughed, "Oh I thought curiousity killed the cat!"  
  
"It did, didn't it? It killed Satine, didn't it?"  
  
Christian stopped his laughing and froze, "How did c-curiousity kill Satine?" he stood up, "What do you mean?"  
  
The Duke watched him out of the corner of his eye as Christian went to the other end of the table, "Well, think about it, boy. She could never find the right person in life. Curiousity in love, that is. Nit-picked every little man able to pay, but never found the right one. But of course, that doesn't mean should could have a night or two. Do you even know what she died from?"  
  
"I... I think it was consumption."  
  
"Good boy." he stood up, walking to Christian with his hands linked. "And do you know how people get consumption?"  
  
"Um..." Christian shook his head. "I thought it was just a disease."  
  
"It's more than just a disease. Slowly, it ables blood to pass through your lungs, and slowly you get shorter and shorter of breath until you suffocate and die. Probably one of her clients had it, passed it on to her."  
  
"Oh. Well, a-at least no one else got it-"  
  
"On contraire. Somebody else did get it. It's not like a cold, boy. It could be passed through intercourse."  
  
"I-intercourse-?", Christian was getting a little pale.  
  
"Sex. And I wonder who had sex with our little girl Satine, hmmm?", he slightly raised an eyebrow.  
  
Christian began to think of his cough earlier, when he woke up from the dream.  
  
No, no... that wasn't from it...  
  
"W-wai..." he couldn't even get the "I" out.  
  
No... no no no...  
  
He looked to the floor, "You...you-you're s-saying I h-h-ave it?"  
  
"Pretty big chance, boy."  
  
Stop calling me boy...  
  
Christian's arm began to twitch, shutting his eyes tightly, trying not to cry. But they opened again, a storm in his grey eyes forming, "No... no I don't! I don't, I don't!"  
  
"Yes, you do. Don't you, boy? Obvious you two had a night with each other, maybe more than once. More the merrier, they say."  
  
"No.. No!", a tear broke through, his fingers got cold, white as the rest of his body.  
  
"Stop telling yourself lies, it will only make it worse."  
  
"Stop it! Stop it please! I don't have it! Stop!", he looked at his admirer. "Stop!!", his breathing shallow. "No.. no.. No I don't! YOU'RE LYING! ALL LIES!! STOP THE LIES, PLEASE!!"  
  
The Duke didn't even say anything, just looking at the revolutionary slowly begin to shatter like a crystal wine glass hit the floor in slow motion.  
  
~  
  
Christian stumbled backwards, hitting his back on the wall behind him. He began to bawl whatever was left of his heart, the storm raging tears in streams down his flushed, closing his eyes sharply trying to get rid of the pain of Truth.  
  
He WAS Truth. Il etre Vérité. But the Truth is slipping into the real truth, loosing hope in that very wine glass.  
  
Sinking to the floor and curling into a ball, he rested his head on his arms and letting the tears miss the rest of his face, trying to block reality, but that's impossible. The darkness of his little hole showed his reality to be nothing more than a utopian fantasy ruled for dystopian ideas. Fantasy. Everything he wanted to do in life was in that little crystal wine glass; life, love, freedom, creativity, future, mixed with a bit of sugar and absinthe, falling to through an abyss leading to the real.  
  
Falling.  
  
Falling.  
  
He wanted to escape, back into his world. Back to his utopia. But no, it was inside the glass, swirling around the green wormwood. Too late.  
  
Falling.  
Falling.  
Crash.  
And the voice begins to shatter, breaking his fantasy, ideals drying in a puddle of revolution and hope. 


	5. Chapter Five: The Comeback

Chapter 5: The Comeback ~ I hear the sound of the ticking of clocks, Come back and look for me look for me when I am lost.  
  
"Christian."  
  
Night turns to day and I still have these questions, Who just could blame, shall I go forwards or backwards? And not since today and I still get no answers  
  
"No." He didn't move, his head still resting on his arms, in his artificial darkness.  
  
"Christian, get up."  
  
"I said no. I don't want to."  
  
"Please."  
  
He lifted his head slightly so a lone eye, swirling with storms, could look out. The break of his fantasial reality to the actual reality left the world darker, as he saw the Duke kneeling in front of him. "Christian, get up."  
  
He let both eyes out, "I said no, sir." Why in hell did I just call him sir...?  
  
He felt the Duke's finger pushing the hair from his eyes, "Please?"  
  
Christian's arms relaxed, lifting his head up more, "You really do love me, don't you?"  
  
"I had to have a reason to send those letters, didn't I?" He finally put his arms to his side, resting back against the wall, tilting his head to the balcony. It was still night, maybe midnight or close-to by now. "Then why did you tell me I had consumption? Break all my hopes of a future, why don't you."  
  
"I was only telling the truth. Now get up.", the Duke stood up, looking down at Christian.  
  
Christian looked back up at him, but figured he'd get up, he'll probably pull his gun on me or something.  
  
He got up dizzily, almost falling at first, newborn to reality. His legs were still wobbly as he supported himself on the wall with his elbows, "There... are you happy, n-now?"  
  
The Duke didn't reply, just walked closer to him. Oh god... He stuck out his index finger to the left of Christian's face, waiting for his eyes to catch it, then his whole head. He moved it slowly to the other side until Christian's eyes were almost lined with his. He dropped the finger suddenly and caught Christian off-guard as he locked his lips with his.  
  
Holy shit! He's kissing me! Christian's eyes didn't even blink, but could feel himself wanting to return each and every one. He relaxed his shoulders, his whole body even, and let his admirer have him. Back in love again- ah no no! No what the hell am I thinking!? He pushed away, walking sideways away from the wall, "Wha... what w-wa-was- was that for?"  
  
The Duke only raised his eyebrow and smirked, "You were enjoying that..."  
  
"No I wasn't!" Okay, maybe I was... MAYBE...  
  
"You're lying." He still smirked, "You're just too scared to tell me the truth."  
  
"Well, maybe I AM telling you the truth! Just... j-just don't do that again."  
  
"What if I do, boy?"  
  
"We...well... ah..." Christian began to wheeze, not able to speak his words as felt his breathing suddenly heavy, he clenched his chest, coughing wildly. He could feel the blood in his lungs, blocking his air, as he looked at the drop of red on his finger. He felt dizzy again and collapsed to his knees, trying to take in air as it got more and more of a trial. One of which, he didn't win. ~  
  
What was left of his conscious mind, it sent a pleasing aroma from his nose to the rest of his body. Christian dazely woke up, watching the small bottle with his eyes, the little bottle the scent was coming from, clearing up his lungs. He distracted from the bottle, noticing he was sitting on the bed, and someone was sitting behind him, very close, but too tired to recognize. All of his clothes were taken off and in a neat pile at the foot of the bed, and suddenly he felt a finger run down his spine, and he bent his back forward, the incent of that bottle still made him woozy, and maybe a little high. Whatever it was, he didn't care. A rush of ecstacy from behind, as his eyes fluttered back into his head. He felt it again, resting his head on the person shoulder behind him, the Duke's hand grabbed Christian's as he heard Christian moan. And again he moved... and again... and again...  
  
The voice is on the border line of love and lust. Whether he will find the  
difference is only up to him. 


	6. Chapter Six: The Assumption

Chapter 6: The Assumption ~  
  
Christian sat nestled in Satine's lap, feeling her silky white hands brush his face like a spring wind. It was nearly dawn in her world, the sun rising along the cirrus clouds gave stripes of a red horizon beyond the hill, as they sat under a cherry tree. Red in the morning, sailors take warning. "He... he did it, Satine. You were right. I can't believe it... he does love me.", he said, pensive. "It's just, strange. I... I never thought love could be like this."  
  
"Love comes in all forms, but something bugs me. Do you really think its love?", she traced her finger down to his chin and raised it slightly.  
  
"What do you mean? What else could it be?", he looked up at her face, concern shining in her blue-sky eyes.  
  
"I'm just thinking, that maybe he's just saying that to pull you in. Remember when I thought you were him and I told you a loved you? You believed it, right?"  
  
He chuckled, as her fingers tickled his skin, "Of course I did.", he rested closer to her chest, memories slowly raining like the small cherry blossom pedals falling around them. He remembered the red room, dancing on the clouds of Paris, serenading her like a songbird. He remembered the medley they sang, and when they kissed, one of true love.  
  
She bleakly smiled, "I think he's doing that to you. I'd be very careful if I were you, watch him like a cat. Listen to your mind and get out of there if it tells you."  
  
Christian nodded, "I... I better wake up, then. See you soon." He reached up and kissed her softly, feeling her fade under his lips. Then he woke up, just as he promised. ~  
Christian opened an eye, the sun was rising in reality as well. He sat himself up, rubbing his eyes and running his hands through his hair, noticing his clothes still in a pile, a rather neat one, at the floor of the bed. He looked over to the other side of the bed, the Duke wasn't there, he was out of the room completely, in fact. He slid off the bed, grabbing his trousers, shirt, and everything else and, swiftly and carefully, put them on. Christian sat back down on the bed and groaned, rubbing his eyes again, his head aching from last night. Whatever that bottle contained gave him such a morning headache, he began coughing again. The coughs became raspy, rubbing his neck trying to soothe his throat, but it wouldn't help. "Here.", the bottle was held in front of him, Christian nearly jumped. The Duke held it out closer, letting Christian take it and breathe in the vapor, cleaning his lungs and loosening his muscles again, like last night. "Thanks..." Christian sighed, "I see you're up early.", as he put the cap of the bottle back on and looked over at his, clothed, 'lover'. It's so strange calling him lover... "Why are you up early, anyway?"  
  
The Duke shrugged and turned away, "Just got up before you did, besides, I got to have time to get ready."  
  
Christian sat up further, "Ready... ready for what?"  
  
"We're going."  
  
His head bounced back, "Going-wait... 'we'? Y-you and I?"  
  
"Is there anybody else, boy? Of course you and I! I'm going back to England, and I want you to come with me."  
  
Christian looked out the window, still surprised, "B-but I don't want to leave."  
  
The Duke turned around, giving Christian shivers, "You don't? Why wouldn't you want to go back to the place you were born, your home-!"  
  
"Montmartre's my home... the... the Moulin Rouge is my home.", Christian interrupted. I shouldn't have said that, I shouldn't have stopped him. Oh god.  
  
"Oh really.... is that how you see it, your home?", he walked towards the bed, Christian crawling backwards, "The Moulin Rouge is your home? What are you now, a little prostitute!"  
  
"What? No! I don't want to leave! I came here for a revolution and, g-god dammit I'm still going to live it!", he was surprised, how he got the nerve to say that even though he was shaking. Get. Out.  
  
"Fine... you'll be my little whore, now won't you?"  
  
Christian got off the bed, watching the Duke coming closer to him as he backed further, "I-I ne-never said that-"  
  
"Silence!", he yelled, grabbing Christian by his neck and slamming him up against the wall, hearing his breath exhale sharply from the force. "Don't you dare talk back to me like that, whore!", he let Christian go, watching him clumsily fall to the ground, looking back up at him. "I thought you said you... loved me...", Christian began to stumble over his thoughts. Get up, Chris... this doesn't feel right... get. Up. Leave. Now, Chris. Now now now.  
  
"Aw, but I do." Christian felt his cold fingers run through his hair, "I love the way you think, the way you move. The way you smile. I love your eyes. Your hair. I love your body..." he grabbed a bit of Christian's hair and heard him shriek as he pulled his head back, "Get up. Now."  
  
Christian got up slowly, the Duke's hand still gripping his short black hair. When he stood up fully he let go, stroking his finger over Christian's cheek and down to his neck, which again he gripped, locking him to the wall. Christian just looked at him, trying not to let tears fall and the nerve to get out of his grasp. The Duke studied Christian's face, "You're so submissive," he smirked, "just like a whore."  
  
"I'm not... a whore. Please, stop calling me that.", he begged.  
  
"Now, why would I want to do that?", he began to unbutton Christian's pants with his free hand, letting them fall. He looked back up at him, "Whore."  
  
Christian bit his lip, "Oh please not again... please I'm not a whore!", his mind was going crazy, but he couldn't get free.  
  
"Close your eyes. If you look down when I let go, I'll grab you harder. Understood, boy?"  
  
Christian nodded, doing what he was told once the Duke let go. He closed his eyes tightly and titled his head back slightly, trying to blink back the tears. Oh god...What is he going to do? Don't look down, Christian, try to run... go now. Please, save yourself, come on go go go... Christian opened his eye slightly, still looking at the ceiling, noticing nothing has happened. Don't look down... don't look down... what is he going to do-  
  
Lick.  
  
OH MY GOD!  
  
The Voice is deceived, falling for the sadist's trap... how will he escape, or will not escape at all and fall deeper? 


	7. Chapter Seven: The Shot

Chapter 7: The Shot ~  
If I should die this very moment  
I wouldn't fear  
For I've never known completeness  
Like being here  
Christian held tightly onto his pale angel's arm, his face blanched and flushed of color. She did the best she could to help him, comfort him, but it would be too late soon.  
"Satine! Help me, please oh god... help me! I need you!" Christian begged, looking up that silky white angel above him, his breath heaving.  
"I can't do anything, Christian." she answered, disappointed. "I've tried, but they forbid me to do anything of these matters."  
"Please... please I need you! You're my guardian angel... please!"  
"I can't mess with love relationships,-"  
"This isn't...isn't love! It's lust, j-just like you... warned me.", Christian realized; she was right all along.  
"You brought this onto yourself, its too deep now."  
"Ah... Satine... oh please! Please at least make him stop!", the way he spoke began to be longer, more forced.  
"I'm sorry, but I can't do anything! Please hold on!", seemed like she was going to cry, "I know you can do something, I just know it!" Christian stopped short before he could even speak, his eyes blinked shut and his head, pale and flushed, flew backwards, hitting the wall sharply behind him, beginning to shudder. ~  
He opened them back slowly, and noticed he was staring at the ceiling, his angel was gone. He slid down, shutting his eyes again, breathless and tired, his head resting in between his knees. He felt the Duke's fingers brush up his body and putting back his hair, making him shiver again, "You were beautiful. Just as I thought you'd be, my precious little harlot."  
"I'm not a harlot, I'm not yours, you do not own me...", Christian looked up at him and cautiously stood back up, his lazy jaded eyes looked at him in hidden anger.  
"Are you sure about that?-"  
"Don't think you can change my mind that easily. I don't care who you are and what your status is, I know you don't love me, you just think I'm some stupid whore you can easily trick into doing anything you want.",Christian spat, putting his hand in his pocket, and quickly taking it out. Don't...  
"You really do love living your life like this? Your bohemian age is ending, your own life is ending, nothing lives forever."  
"Not everything! Love, love lives forever!"  
"Love? You really think that love lives forever? Stupid bohemian." Christian's anger rose, "I am not stupid! It does live forever! You just don't know it because..." breathe in, "because you're a god fore-saken PIMP!", breathe out. Keep control...  
The Duke merely stared at this pissed little revolutionary, "You're calling me a pimp when I can't call you a little whore? Your lifestyle is so similar to a prostitute's! You're waiting for the right one to 'fall in love with', just like Satine did to you and I." Christian was furious, but said nothing, as the 'pimp' stood across from him, staring him down. "Exactly; silent. Can't think of much, can you boy? Do you want me to just end it right here and now, so you can go on with your poor miserable life!"  
"No! Unlike you, I have something to live for! I am not a prostitute, I am a bohemian! We live in our greatest times in life, while you just roll around in your bourgeoisie state of life, living it meaninglessly, of royalty and greed!"  
Well, that caught his attention, they both stood silent. Christian bit his lip, controlling his breathing. "Meaningless, is it? And a revolutionary's life isn't meaningless, I assume?"  
"Mine has meanings; truth, beauty, freedom, and love. Yours... yours is lies, and repulsive glamour, and confinement, and lust!"  
"Christian I can save you, I can take you out of this for good!"  
"I am not going to be your little male harlot, if that's what you're saying! You cannot change my life!"  
The Duke shook his head at his rambling, "You say you aren't a harlot, but look at yourself. You're pale, thin as a twig, and you say exactly what a harlot would say. But what would you rather be; die loveless here in a poor pathetic place like this or go back, back to your home, back where you can be loved-! "  
"I don't want to be loved like that, and I'm not! You can't make me!"  
Christian couldn't believe what he was saying. To someone higher in power than him, someone higher in class. Class doesn't matter, something clicked in his head, and what ever it was it was driving him now. Breaking the fantasy truth and into vraie vérité, real truth. That the world isn't as romantic as the pages of a novel, but a mixture of fiction, comedy, drama, and war. The Duke seemed to stand even closer to him and whispered, You don't want me to make you. But if I can, I will."  
Christian leaned back away, "I'd rather see you in hell."  
"...Hell it is, then." ~  
Time is nothing, everything is a blur, life is a blur, and so is reality. You miss your chance, and everything you lived for and wanted to have and earned is washed away. In that little glass of green wormwood, no sugar added. Nothing sweetened, this is life, and this is how it ends, in a simple drop of a glass. And before he knew it, he was in that glass, as he pulled the gun from his pocket and pointed it furiously at him, right at his head. His eyes grew wide, wanting to take back what he said, but it was too late for that now. Too late. He fired.  
Bang.  
Crash.  
  
The voice...is silent. Nothing heard, nothing thought. The only thing is, who has lived? And who has died? 


	8. Chapter Eight: The Sixty Days

Chapter 8: The Sixty Days ~  
  
...bang...  
"Cwistian?", Toulouse looked over at the gothic tower from his room above Christian's garret. The bells have just rung its six o'clock chimes, as the sun began to peak up into its rise. Christian hadn't returned yet, and that gunshot got him worried. A little too worried, "Oh no, Cwistian!"  
He ran down the stairs from the garret, stumbling out of the door of the Chambres. Such an early morning, maybe they just woke up, looking up at the balcony, trying to see if anyone was around. From what-oh no, who was his admirer, anyway? It wasn't Nini, she was still at the Rouge that night... Was it that person he was staring at a few nights ago, when he, Christian, and the other bohos were out at the Rouge... But who was it? But no, whatever that shot was, it came from the tower, oh so many worries. Could his soulful little poet be dead? Was it a mere warning shot for something worse? Wait, a gun. Christian doesn't have a gun... who's the only person he knew that had a gun. Who would even use one? ..My way... He hurried through the doors and up the stairs, so many more worries. So few could be true, so few could be false, but please, not his soulful revolutionary, not now! So many more, as he reached the top of the stairs, mildly breathless. The large door into the tower's room was ajar just a little bit, the sunrise light seeping through the crack. Toulouse pushed it open further, "Cwistian...?", opening the door fully. He looked straight ahead of him, and gasped. The light of the sun rise shown behind two silhouettes in the middle of the room. One of the silhouettes was standing stiffly, his hands at his sides, holding a gun. At his feet was an eerie silhouette, lying on his back. Reflections of dried-up blood on the side of his head, riveting down to a crimson puddle. "O-oh no... Cwis-"  
"He deserved it.", the standing silhouette interrupted, loosening up a little.  
He stood silent, a hand over his mouth, blinking up at the one standing, then back at the one dead.  
"He deserved it, that...", he couldn't finish.  
"Cwistian no..."  
"H-he deserved it, Toulouse. I couldn't s-stand it anymore. I'm sorry...", he sniffed back.  
"It's okay, weally, it is-"  
"I...I-I never k-killed anyone in my life.", another sniff back, but his mouth was trembling.  
"Cwistian, it's okay-"  
Christian turned around swiftly, "No it isn't! It isn't okay! I-I didn't mean to kill him, really I didn't!"  
"Cwistian ca'm down, pwease, I'm not accusin' you-", another interruption.  
"I just di-did-didn't want him to hurt anymore people! That god- dammed pimp!", Christian looked down at the Duke's dead body, "No more! You now have your r-rightful place in hell!", he screamed, then looking out at the balcony giving out a hard stare, loosening again and dropping the gun, "No... no no more... oh no, oh God what've I done? I'm sorry for killing him God, please d-don-don't take this as a sin, I don't want to go to hell! No no please! I want to be with Satine, I promised her I'd be w-with her again!", he fell to his knees, "Please why are you doing this... to.... me!" Those last words seems to break and run on as his breath was sharp and stagger, his body shivering. Toulouse grabbed him quickly before he fainted in his arms.  
It's only getting worse. ~  
Days turned to weeks, and weeks into months. Christian's life was wimbling down slowly, he didn't want to do anything, only sleep and pray he woke alive. He knew he was going to die, and there was no stopping it. Another experience in that absinthe glass, that's all it was. Each day it would swirl, little drops would run down the glass and the stem. There were times when he'd cough up blood and get the others in a ready mode. Times he would faint and land hard on the floor, the glass tipping in major flicks, the bohos and others that cared did their best to keep it from the whole glass from going empty. Keep the Voice a-singing, the revolution can't be silent.  
Toulouse visited him every other day, keep him company and hear him speak of love and the Revolution. Reason from the dying Voice himself, such bliss. On Saturdays, the doctor who tended Satine would also visit, checking in on him, keeping the days he had left private. Yet no matter who cared for him, he still felt alone, sitting in his garret. Maybe he just didn't want people seeing him anymore, nobody knew. Maybe he wanted his privacy, to die in peace, but be remembered. His story was wrapped up in brown paper, tied in white string and still on the typewriter desk. A simple package from him, to her. Yes, he did write, but not as much as before. The only thing he would type were these quaint little poems. Poems about lovesickness, voyeurism, sorrow, death, suicide, anything classified as sorrowful and beautiful at the same time. At least, that's what the few that read them thought. ~  
His room barely changed, except for the small slashed tally-like lines on the wall behind his bed. A set of 6 roman numerals ran in a line, above 'I' was already a 5-set of tally marks. Every morning, when Christian woke up, he took a pencil a would make another line. A chart, basically, for every morning he didn't wake up dead. 10 marks. Then 20. 30. 40. That would pass, and he would just spend the rest of the morning and afternoon reminiscing mentally everything that happened to him. His birth, his father and his business, his mother, the day his mother died, his days in the private school, the times he got in trouble for daydreaming, his first typewriter, his first poems, his first crush, the day she moved, his 18th birthday, his 8th crush, the day she slapped him across the face, the day he heard of the Rèvolution de Bohème, the day he heard of Oscar Wilde, the day he read The Picture of Dorian Gray and The Importance of Being Earnest. The morning he left London for Paris, the afternoon he met Toulouse, the night he stepped in the Moulin Rouge, the moment he saw Satine on the trapeze, the hour in the Red Room, the minute he remembered his virginity, and the second he lost it...  
He sighed, sitting at the windowsill like he always did. The Rouge was lit up in red and white lights, glistening in his eyes like fainted stars. Diamant began to sing and whistle along to the band inside played. She did that every sunset, the only thing that would ever make Christian smile. At least somebody still loves me. The songs would be over and she'd flutter around in her cage, just around 11 o'clock at night. Christian would've already nod off to sleep, slightly hanging, slightly breathing, still alive. 45. 50. 55. 59... ~  
It was 11:00, on a cold, Saturday evening. Christian looked over at the 59 tallies marked on the wall behind his bed from the windowsill. Soon, it would be sixty. Two months since that horrible night he had blocked out of his mind, or so tried. The gun shot still rang in his ears. He could still feel the Duke's hand around his neck and then let go, as his head went lower... ...and then after, the sense of a dark and twisted reality clicked. How anyone so cruel like him was in a place of high society. He had no right to treat a revolutionary, like him, like that. Those letters, those two manilla-color notes, were just romantically perverse invitations to a prostitution ring. How could he accept them, how could he accept him. After his 'ange gardienne' left, he knew what he had to do. Standing up carefully, he slipped his hand gently into the Duke's pocket, taking out the gun. As he stood up fully, He put it behind his back, waiting. "...Hell it is, then." Bang. Hope you're enjoying your stay.  
Christian stood up. Diamant finished her song about ten minutes ago, and was gently sleeping in the night air. He wasn't sleeping, he knew tonight would be the night. A knock came from the door suddenly, Christian put on his robe on, wrapping the ends closer to him. "I-it's open.", shivering.  
The door opened; it was Nini, "Chris?"  
"Oh, h-hi Nini. W-wh-what are you doing h-here?"  
"Toulouse... he wanted me to check in on you.", she couldn't help but look at him in shock. The tie wrapped around his waist was so small, so much slack from the ends of the knots. His skin was ghostly white, literally glowing under a near-midnight moonshine. He was just so... thin. His ribs showed, making long, rounded curved hills on his chest. His arms, holding the robe protectively, were lean, the slight curves of his bones and tendons easily seen. His stomach probably concaved inward beneath the robe. Oh this poor, enchanted boy... his hair was oily and long, drifting over his eyes. Oh his eyes, a strange lazy glaze, dark rings around them like eyeliner. Such a sad-eyed fallen angel.  
"Well, tell h-him I'm d-doing fine."  
She sighed, "You aren't doing fine, Christian. Look at yourself, come back to the Rouge and at least have some fun."  
He looked down at himself, "I'm f-fine, really. I look fine."  
"No you don't, you look horrible! You're thinner than I am! That's not good! Come on, please, everyone wants to see you."  
"I don't c-care."  
"Chris come on!"  
"I'm going to die anyway, why do you all even care!?"  
She froze, looking at him. They both were silent until Nini nodded her head goodbye and slowly walked out. Christian relaxed his shoulders, unwrapping the robe and looked down at himself again. He wasn't fine. "I'm going to die anyway..." ~  
11:50 was the time his pocketwatch read, standing on his night stand. Christian laid on his bed, his fingers following the creases in the sheets, lightly weezing. A cloud began cover the moonshine, on and off, just like his own life. He felt like crying, but what was the point. Nobody cries before they die, only the ones holding them. The one they love the most. In a bed of rose petals. After the greatest show in Paris. The world. Oh Satine, I'm coming. I don't know when, but I'm coming. I'll love you until my dying day, and beyond. My Ange Gardienne... 11:55. A piano began to play in the Moulin Rouge's dance hall. Such a sweet, sorrowful melody. Christian sat up on the end of his bed, looking out from the window. The lights were dimmer than usual, but why? Why were they playing that sorrowful melody on a night like this? Were they playing it for him?...He sang along quietly, making up words...  
"Come on, oh my star is fading,  
as I swerve out of control  
And if I, if I only waited  
I'd not be stuck here in this hole.  
Come here, oh my star is fading,  
and I swerve out of control  
And I swear, I waited and waited  
I got to get out of this hole...", he looked up at the clouds.  
"But time, is on your side,  
It's on your side now.  
You're pushing me down, and all around  
It's no cause for concern  
Come here, oh my star is fading  
And I see no chance of release  
And I know, I'll be dead on the surface  
But I'm screaming underneath  
And time, is on your side, its on your side now  
You're pushing me down, and all around  
It's no cause for concern...", he looked down at the floor.  
"You can say what you mean, but it won't change a thing  
I'm sick of these secrets  
Stood on the edge, tied to a noose", he looked up again.  
"But you came along, and cut me loose..."  
  
Inhale, exhale. Sharper and raspier they became. Diminish... diminish... ~  
Toulouse made his way up the stairs. ~  
The bells struck midnight.  
Outside, a dark cloud covered the moon again, it began to snow.  
  
_.~Fin~._ 


End file.
